I Will Protect You
by mimithereader
Summary: Prompt: After the event at the McCall house in which real Stiles is back, Melissa goes into nurse mode wanting to examine Stiles to see if he is alright, but Stiles clings onto Scott afraid of anyone but Scott, even Melissa, of touching him. Scott tries to calm Stiles down, holding him to his chest, whispering comforting words to him, so his mother can check him out. *EDITED!


After watching Peter and Deaton chase after Lydia, Scott turned to Stiles – his Stiles – and reached out a hand to grip tightly at Stiles's elbow. Scott had been so focused on Stiles's eyes, the eyes that held all of the curiosity, courage, and clarity that Scott knew so well. Except now those eyes shined with confusion and pain and regret. Scott hated it. He couldn't stand seeing the charisma dull in his lively best friend's eyes as a new sense of fear radiated from the blown pupils. He meant to ask if Stiles was okay, meant to tell him that nothing that happened had been his fault, that everything would be okay, but he didn't.

Couldn't.

Because suddenly Scott could feel the material of the jacket that did not belong to Stiles, did not belong on his body. Scott could see the dirty gauze still hanging on Stile's tense shoulders, the gauze that Stiles – not Stiles – had just thrown up on the living room floor. Scott noticed the worn undershirt, the stained pants, the old boots, all so not Stiles that Scott began to panic. What if this wasn't Stiles at all? What if the real Stiles is with Lydia? What if this is a trick? What if –

"S-Scott?"

And Scott's mind stopped.

Because that voice, that voice is Stiles. That tenderness, that quiver, the slight trembling of the bottom lip – this is Stiles, and Scott's sure of it. [[MORE]]

He helps Stiles carefully to his feet, still gripping tightly to his elbow to keep him steady.

"Scott?"

This voice is more sure, more calm, but it's a practiced calm. A calm only someone with years of experience in stressful situations could possess – his mom. Scott turns his head, eyes focusing on his mother who is still standing a cautious distance away.

He knows what she's asking without her saying it, so he nods in response. Yes. Yes, this is Stiles. The real Stiles. I'm sure. It's him. I'm sure.

Melissa's training kicks her into gear immediately, her nurse's mind quickly running over everything she needs to check to assure that Stiles is alright, that he isn't dying, that they don't need to rush to a hospital. She takes a step towards the boys without hesitation but hurriedly stops when Stiles whimpers and clumsily but determinedly retreats back behind Scott.

Scott stares at his mother, not knowing what to make of their current situation. Melissa takes a small step forward and once again comes to a halt when Stiles locks Scott's bicep in a death grip, another whimper escaping his lips as he cowers behind Scott's shoulder.

Scott turns slightly to look at Stiles and when he sees the pure terror in those big, doe eyes, his need to comfort and protect surges. Careful not to tug his arm free from Stiles's grasp, Scott turns more fully and places his other hand on the nape of Stile's neck.

"Hey, hey. You're okay. You're alright, buddy. She won't hurt you, Stiles," Scott tries, hoping to ease the boy's sudden panic. His attempt is in vain, though, as Stile's breathing picks up when Melissa shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Scott, I need to check him over," Melissa says calmly, though Scott can sense the underlying urgency.

Scott doesn't dare take his eyes off of Stiles, focusing on the rapid rise and fall of his friend's chest, the sound of his desperate gulps for air.

"Stiles. Stiles! You need to calm down, okay? Okay, buddy? Just breathe. Please, Stiles, just breathe," Scott nearly begged.

The only response he received was a heart-shattering whine as Stiles moved his hands from Scott's arm to clutch frantically at the front of Scott's shirt, long fingers twisting the black fabric.

Scott grabbed Stiles's shoulders firmly, almost roughly, before trying to calm his once again, "Stiles, please, please relax. You're okay."

And, again, the attempt was in vain as Stiles's ragged, pained breaths became increasingly shallow.

"Scott, sweetie, this isn't working. You need to calm him down, honey. He's going to pass out," Melissa interjected, still rooted to her spot, afraid to make a move that might frighten the panicking boy even more.

Scott knew his mother was right. Scott pulled Stiles into his chest, one hand holding the back of Stile's head so he was pressed against Scott's shoulder, the other clutching Stiles tightly to him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Stile's temple and began a steady, quiet mantra of 'it's okay, you're okay, you're safe, I'll protect you' until Stiles's breathing returned to a somewhat normal rhythm.

Stile's fingers lost their hold on Scott's shirt, his legs giving out as exhaustion hit him. Scott carefully ushered Stiles toward the couch, taking all of his weight, before slowly sliding to the floor, Stiles settled between his sprawled out legs. Scott leaned against the couch, muscled arms tightly encircling Stiles's waist, as Stiles slumped back against him.

Looking up at his mother, Scott softly spoke, "Stiles, my mom really needs to check you over and make sure you're okay."

Stiles stared at him once again with wide scared eyes, but didn't seem to be putting up much of a fight this time. Scott took this as a good sign.

"It's okay, Stiles. It's just my mom. She wouldn't hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Stiles voice was small and cracked as he barely whispered, "Promise?"

"I swear."

With that Stiles leaned even more heavily into Scott, resting his head on Scott's chest. "Okay." And Stiles closed his eyes as Scott nodded a go-ahead at his mother who slowly stepped forward and began her ministrations.


End file.
